The Fall
by Ryebread321
Summary: Voldemort's fall from power.


It all came down to this final moment. The prophecy said that neither could live while the other survives. This instant was destined ever since that fateful night over seventeen years ago, where my most humiliating failure occurred, that I should fight Harry Potter to the death.

I wouldn't feel remorse or guilt. Everything I did was for this single moment. The powerful were obligated to step on the weak in order to climb the ladder of success. That was the way. Only the strong survive. And yet, his words unnerved me as I never experienced before. I couldn't force them out of mind.

Had he really discovered and terminated so many of my horcruxes? My soul, by now, is so fragmented that I might not have felt their moment of death, a small price to pay for becoming the master of Death, and yet… how could I not know about the extermination of the shards of my soul?

An unfamiliar feeling lingered in my chest. A racing heart pumped beneath my billowing, black robe. My hand gripped the Elder Wand tightly, knuckles whitening under my already pale skin, and the other skimmed over my smooth, bald head. The possibility of death was making me nervous, frightened, and weak. I didn't like it.

I let my fear and frustration and doubts flow through me, boiling and churning into white hot anger. I used my rage and hate to fuel me. It made me stronger, more powerful. Revenge would be sweet.

With a wild yell that I didn't expect to come from my own mouth, betrayed me, letting my emotions show, and I cast my killing curse. At the same time, the boy shouted his overused disarming spell. The two jets of magic met with a gushing explosion of light that erupted in mid-air. Magical energy spilled over because of the power the two of us possessed.

Yes, I admitted that the boy had power, even if only stolen from myself. I underestimated him before, but not again. I would end this right now.

I thrust my arm forward, willing the stream of light toward him, pushing my concentration of the brink. The balance of our incantations was turning, the middle pushed forward towards Harry Potter. I internally hailed in triumph.

Confidence was ingrained into my head. I was going to win this. There was no doubt in my mind that Harry Potter would die tonight and permanently this time. The Boy Who Lived would die.

I could see that this was taking its toll on the boy. Sweat covered his pale brow making his black hair stick to his forehead and smudging the dirt and ash on his face. His green eyes were hard with concentration, gazing into my own with a piercing look that showed pure determination. He was as unwavering as I was, and I admired that. It was too bad that he chose to side with the feeble power of love instead of investing his time in learning the true art of magic, as I did. He would have been a strong ally, but now he was just my opponent. He was one more person in the way of my immortality and my supremacy.

Our spells continued to dance, our powers stayed equal. I put all my focus and energy into defeating Harry Potter.

I was aware of everybody watching us. The room was silent and the fighting had stopped. The greatest battle of all time was being seen by all in the wreckage of the Great Hall. It couldn't get any better; the masses would witness the fall of the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter.

My focus was so taken with Potter's defeat that I didn't see my spell was waning. The long stream was being forced back by the red light and the mass of magical explosion was being shoved in my direction.

It was almost as if my death was approaching me. Slowly, but unwaveringly, the ball of overflowing energy was coming at me. I felt petrifying warmth as it neared my body, heating my skin. I felt a liquid substance run down my neck. Sweat beaded on the surface of my skin, dampening my robes.

Fear gripped me completely as it hadn't since I was a child when my secret treasures were being torched in a wardrobe. The imminence of my death seemed so near, and yet, Death was taking its sweet time. It was almost as if Death were punishing me for living so long by frightening me with anticipation. Panic tore through my body. I wasn't able to hold in the sheer terror I felt at the thought of dying, of my life being blown out quickly and easily as if I were a candle.

The blinding hot magic was right before me and I knew that I was going to die, though I couldn't accept it, even with that knowledge. I fought until it hit me, even though it was pointless. I took one last look at the boy, his eyes showed no remorse, only pity.

In seemingly slow motion, I watched as a rush of red and green surged toward my body. White hot, it burst and I felt my skin pull apart, ripping and tearing from my body. The agony was immense. I was disintegrating and when my form was destroyed, I felt myself blackout from the terrible pain. The world turned dark and terror rippled through me. I felt myself floating in nothingness, lost in a world of blackness. I was floating in nowhere and time ceased to exist.

Then, coming from somewhere in my dark expanse, after some amount of time, was a little ball of white. It appeared as an opening, randomly placed in the black. Though I couldn't move, my fractured piece of soul rushed towards it… or maybe it eagerly leapt at me. Either way, I found myself being pushed into the opening and into a pure white train station.

My body seemed to reform again and massive pain erupted from my new form and for a second, I thought that I had been mistaken; maybe I didn't die, maybe I lived. I was smaller than before and weaker. The white light burned my eyes and I felt chilled. As I shivered under a pearly bench, I realized that I hadn't survived; I was in my own personal hell, forever weak and helpless and dead and just conscious enough to realize these facts.

Being too wrapped up in my own thoughts and pains, I didn't notice the footsteps nearing me until I saw them in front of my face, blocking out some of the blinding light.

A pair of feet covered in white wool socks stopped in front of me, followed by white robes, and then a bespectacled face with half-moon glasses as a man sat down in front of me.

"Hello, Tom," said an elderly, deep voice.

I wanted to sneer at Dumbledore, but my voice wouldn't work past a garbled moan, so I had to lie there, curled up in despair, and listen to his poisonous falsehoods.

"What have you done to yourself, Tom? You should have known that no one lives forever, no one can master death. We _both_ should have known," he chastised lightly, his voice soaked with regret. Dumbledore looked at me pityingly. I didn't need his pity. I didn't need anyone's sympathy.

"In the end, it's always the ones who don't want power that get it, isn't it?" Dumbledore pondered with a stroke of his beard. "Harry really is a magnificent boy, isn't he? You have to admit that he has done great things, and I will bet there are more to come." He peered at me through the corner of his eyes. I could hear the admiration and fondness in his voice.

"But that's not what I really wanted to say to you, Tom. I want to say that forgiveness is the key, for you and your victims, and I forgive you, Tom. You always were an exceptional student, if not misguided, and when you finally find that forgiveness in your heart, you can be at peace. Until then, Tom, I wish you luck." Dumbledore stood up with a simple smile and walked away into whiteness without looking back.

I scoffed at his words. I wouldn't go where he was going. I could still make it; I could still get back from this. I was determined to live again and finally remake the world into my vision. I would live again and I didn't need Dumbledore's foolish love and forgiveness to do it. Those emotions were for the weak and I wanted power.


End file.
